


Plush Bumper

by sherlocksbees



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Enthusiastic Consent Kink, Established Relationship, Explicit Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Killer Whales, M/M, Masturbation, Masturbation with a plush toy, Plushophilia, Sherlock becomes obsessed with orcas, but not Sherlock as an orca, implied sex between Sherlock and John, just Sherlock as a fan of orca whales, orca!lock anyone?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-03
Updated: 2015-05-03
Packaged: 2018-03-28 21:12:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3869959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sherlocksbees/pseuds/sherlocksbees
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>January the sixth is Sherlock's birthday, and John was very kind and bought him something.<br/>Months later, when John is away on a mandatory medical conference in North Scotland, Sherlock spends some alone time with his birthday gift and discovers something new about himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Plush Bumper

John watched over while Sherlock laid down on the carpeted floor and looked under his bed, the man was grinning like an idiot and was over-excited. John leaned up against his door-frame with a whiskey and water over ice in his hand and smiling very smugly. The day was January the sixth, Sherlock’s birthday, and it was raining something horrible outside. They’d just got back in from a night out drinking and eating (Sherlock wasn’t having a problem with the lager, but it took a little cajoling from John to have him eat some cod).

“It isn’t a sex thing, is it?” Sherlock asked, jumping up, “You seem aroused. Are you aroused?”

“I will be if you continue to stick your arse in the air like that,” John replied, motioning to where Sherlock had been sticking his arse in the air while peering under the bed.

John had mentioned that he had bought a gift for Sherlock and it was now Sherlock’s job to find it. Just two minutes ago he deduced it wasn’t outside of the flat and then shortly after he correctly guessed it was in John’s room. But where? That depended on the size.

“Do I have your permission to search the area?” Sherlock asked.

“Be my guest,” John said, motioning around the room with his glass.

Sherlock broke into a wolfish smile and looked through John’s bedside drawer.

“Socks. Pants. A new bottle of lubricant? Hoping to get lucky tonight? Is that the gift?”

“No,” John replied, “I wouldn’t be averse to sex with you, though.”

“Neither would I. But what’s _my gift,_ John?”

“You won’t find it in there,” John shook his head.

“Where will I find it then?” Sherlock asked.

John shrugged as if he didn’t know.

Sherlock moved around and looked through the small wardrobe that lived in John’s room and – yes, very quickly found the gift because it was so _bloody huge._

“There it is! Ah, do you like it, Sherlock?” John asked, setting his whiskey and water down on the bedside table that had just been tampered with, “You know, I bought it about a month ago with the really cheap shipping. I thought it wouldn’t come until after your birthday, but you know what happened? Something screwed up with the company. They sent it to me in like…I don’t know. Two, three days? I thought you would have deduced I was hiding something from you by now. I guess it’s sort of out of your area to deduce a grown man hiding a plush whale inside of his wardrobe, right Sherlock? Sherlock? Sherlock….are you crying?”

Sherlock was holding, no, clutching the thirty inch long plush orca whale to his chest and gradually watched John Watson get blurrier.

“I seem to be,” Sherlock admitted, and wiped tears away, smiling, “Oh, thank you, John. I love it.”

“You’re acting like I bought you a puppy,” John said, motioning Sherlock in for a hug, “I really didn’t think you’d like it this much.”

“I _love_ it!” Sherlock said triumphantly, pressing the plush orca tighter to his chest.

“You know you’ve been so interested in orca whales for the past few months, I thought you had given up on bees.”

Sherlock had recently begun following the stories and lives of orca whales near the coast of Scotland, which included the West Coast Community. From there, he found himself enraptured by a multitude of pods around the world, especially the Southern Residents which was home to Sherlock’s two favorite orcas – Blackberry and Mega. He fawned over all of them at the computer during his down time between cases and often nibbled the sides of his fingers while watching documentaries, Youtube videos, and skimming through photo galleries. Sherlock would often go to sleep with John spooning him, raking his fingers through Sherlock’s curls, Sherlock still babbling on about breaching, pec slapping, and transients.

Sherlock’s face fell, he looked almost scandalized if it wasn’t for the elated mood that he was in, “That’s not true, John. I do love orca whales, but I will never love them as much as bees, I am sorry to say.”

“No skin off my arse,” John said, kissing Sherlock’s cheek and hugging him closely – the new plush toy sandwiching between them.

John moved around to kiss Sherlock sweetly on the lips and Sherlock enthusiastically cradled John’s skull in his hand and deepened the kiss.

“Oh, you’re a bad man,” John replied back hoarsely, voice strained with arousal, “About that lubricant…”

“No need to keep it in its packaging any longer, right?”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

“Brilliant.”

However there was not much ground in calling the man that you have just bought a child’s plush toy a “bad man”, Sherlock still enjoyed hearing that from John and John still enjoyed showering the birthday boy in compliments. Such was how the night ended, with both men naked and Sherlock lying on his front in bed, with John’s rough hands caressing his back all the way down to his arse and spreading him wide open.

By the end, they both lay breathless next to each other, Sherlock having fetched the plush whale back and hell bent on snuggling both the toy and John. Oh, it smelled like John when he first found him (John had been hiding the whale under a pile of dirty clothes).

“I’m glad you like this thing,” John said, holding Sherlock (and ostensibly also the whale).

“His name is Mega.”

“Is it? Ah, which one is that?”

“You know,” Sherlock reprimanded, “Southern Resident. L Pod. ‘The biggest bull’.”

“Is that the one you keep showing me pictures of? Is that the one with the really good video of him breaching?”

“No, the breaching one is of Blackberry. He’s in the J Pod.”

“The one with the big flippers.”

“Yes!” Sherlock replied, petting the fur of his plush Mega, “I would probably let Mega fuck me if I was a whale.”

“Yeah, but then you’d have to be a girl whale.”

“No,” Sherlock pouted, “Mega is bisexual. Kind of like you, John.”

“First you cornered me with ‘John, did you know one hundred percent of the population of snails are bisexual?’ then it was ‘John, eighty percent of all plants are bisexual, did you know that?’ and then, ‘John, have I told you about giraffes?’ Now I am a whale.”

Sherlock giggled into John’s shoulder.

 

Mega smelled exactly like John, all of the time. This was because Sherlock insisted on going to bed with John and Mega every night. Most couples had dogs, or even children, but John and Sherlock had a plush incarnation of a whale. Sherlock often pushed Mega into John’s skin and then sniffed Mega when John was up early in the morning putting his clothes and deodorant on and putting product in his hair. Sometimes Sherlock stared openly, and sometimes was as cheeky as to pretend he was still asleep while he watched John put on pants and hum tunes.

Work and life got in the way (as it always did) and John was whisked off to a mandatory conference in Scotland. North Scotland. John asked Sherlock if he’d like to come along for it but when Sherlock had heard that he wouldn’t actually be able to _go_ to the conference, and would just have to make due with however he could entertain himself in Scotland while John was gone for twelve hours a day talking to _professionals_ about _professional things,_ he immediately decided against it.

On the morning that John was gone and they had their goodbye kiss at the cab door, Sherlock had already finished a case and was simply waiting around for Lestrade to call for a case. A murder. Or a jewel heist. Or perhaps a bank robbery. Or a loan shark robbery. Or a florist shop robbery. Another six year old had sent him an email about another run away cat….

Sherlock added the one-hundred and eighth paper clip to his paper clip chain thinking that it was February and maybe the temperature would soon rise? Sherlock turned his head to look out the window and saw that it was nearly snowing.

Was it possible to be bored to death? Sherlock was guessing so, as John wasn’t even answering his complaint texts. When he called Graham there was sniffling on the other end of the line and Sherlock stiffened, hoping this wasn’t a crying thing. Gary, however, was only sick with horrible influenza. Damn, not even updates on whatever dull bar fights were happening.

Sherlock laid in bed with Mega then, closing his eyes and trying to relax like John had told him to when he got into stroppy, anxious moods like this. In his head he pretended that John and him were back, and there was an unnerving and terrifying murderer on the loose that could sneak into locked rooms and murder acrobats and contortionists. In the end it would turn out that there were secret passageways that only contortionists could get through but there was no way that the murderer was a contortionist because the footprints were too big and far a part – alluding to the monstrous height and gait of the murderer. Oh, that would be wonderful.

There would have to be a stake-out of course, John would go along with him and they’d hide in a cupboard and drill a small hole into the door to peer through it. Sherlock could feel him now, John pressing closely into Sherlock’s back, breathing into his ear and asking what he could see. It would be a very small cupboard and John would grip him around the middle, pressing into him. Oh, John would be pressing up so close to him and murmuring in his ear about how brilliant he was and how fantastically everything was going.

Sherlock would push back into John and feel John’s lips on his neck, followed by his tongue and breathless whispers on him, John’s hard cock against his hip. There wasn’t any room for Sherlock to even feel guilty for saying no, he didn’t want to say no, he wanted to take John right there in the cramped fucking cupboard.

Maybe it wouldn’t be that cramped, in fact, it would be pretty spacious. There would even be a bench where Sherlock could…rest against in case he felt winded. Or if John felt winded and needed to have a sit down, of course Sherlock would be more than happy to help John relax. He wanted to rub the tops of John’s thighs and hum into his crotch. He’d let John’s cock spring free and take it into his mouth right there, stroking it while he pushed it as far into his throat as he could.

John would be so surprised and impressed with Sherlock, calling him a dirty man in hushed and aroused tones.

Sherlock’s eyes blew wide open while he saw his hard cock throbbing against his orca plush. He had been masturbating and hadn’t even noticed it. Mega felt so good against his cock, though and Sherlock pushed his pants down and rubbed his cock against Mega’s very soft material. Kicking off his pants, he was only wearing a white shirt and a blue dressing gown.

He pressed Mega closer to him, inhaling John’s musky scent and was suddenly so happy for their ritualistic sleeping together. It made Sherlock’s cock feel even harder and heavier while he pressed it again and again against Mega, the relief of the pressure washing over him. Sherlock tipped his head back and moaned, letting go of inhibitions and letting himself get carried away with the lovely feeling.

Throwing one leg over, he mounted the plush toy and pushed his balls and perineum into the soft material and let out another moan while he masturbated. Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed his face into Mega while he continued his fantasy with sucking John off in the cupboard.

He’d always been interested in the feeling of having John’s fingers curled around his hair, pulling on it a little bit, just so he could feel a little bit rough. He wanted for John to be so rough with him, he had seen John get angry so many times and had fantasized so many times before of John taking him roughly in bed. What felt like a photo album of thoughts rushed over Sherlock…he wondered where they had all come from when he realized that he must have accidentally opened some sort of drawer in his Mind Palace that were all old fantasies of John.

Flipping through them in his head, he saw that most of them were of John on his knees behind Sherlock, thrusting into him and pulling his hair back while he moaned deeply and John grunted and talked dirty. Sherlock gripped Mega in his fists and snapped his hips quickly while he continued to let the fantasies pass through his mind while he masturbated.

There was everything from cheap and vulgar fantasies having to do with being spanked or fucked hard; John demanding fellatio, John holding one hand around Sherlock’s throat, John pushing finger-shaped bruises into Sherlock’s hips, and John whispering, “You’ve never had it so good” while he pushed into him. There was the gentler ones with John cradling him, petting his hair, keeping their foreheads pressed together, keeping eye contact, and brushing his sweaty locks out of his face while he wanked Sherlock off with his left, “Are you all right, love? Do you like it? Is that okay, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s breathing became so labored, and all of the thoughts were rushing through his head so quickly, snippets of images just flicking by for just a second before a new one pushed through. His head was a mass of images of John, being enraptured by him. Nothing stayed for more than a second, but every single one was just as salacious as the last.

His brain, at some odd point, forgot some fantasies, or perhaps just couldn’t spit any more out – losing variation and seeing too many repeated positions. Instead he was conjuring up filed away clips of first times, and the details behind each…what they all looked like and smelled like, and how he felt and where they were. The first time they’d had sex, John had been in so much pain and Sherlock put him to sleep with the violin and covered him up in a blanket, and when John woke up he felt better again. John cradled Sherlock in his lap and it was like they lived in a place where the kissing never stops. So they didn’t stop and Sherlock found himself in his bed with John hovering over him and kissing his neck and taking his prick in hand and asking him questions that made him feel better.

The first time he took John in his mouth was at three in the morning and neither of them had slept and it was in the middle of a case. Sherlock had insisted, “anything else, I need to think about anything else” and it had ended with his skull in John’s lap and John’s cock had made a pleasurable appearance.

John took him in his bed the first time Sherlock nodded over and over again and decided that he was, yes, definitely ready for John to come in. John pushed in so slowly and Sherlock held his legs up and let them fall over John’s shoulders – and that was the image. Sherlock had filed it away because his mind was so mercifully blown and empty when he looked down and watched John thrusting and groaning into him while his untouched cock twitched and bobbed lasciviously. In his memory he was gripping the sheets hard and in that moment he thrusted again into Mega and came sticky all over himself. The feeling of the fabric so soft, brushing up against his incredibly sensitive shaft and glans was so much and exactly what he needed in that second while he came. Mega's fur was beautiful against his hard cock and he rubbed his glans all over him, enjoying the sensation completely and more than appreciating the feeling of his hips working, keeping that steady rhythm. He could easily imagine it was John's hands holding his hips like that, and oh God, oh  _God_ to be able to picture John so easily and accurately when he was coming...

He rode out his post-orgasm moans and twitches, still snuggling against Mega and feeling soft and hollow. Sherlock rubbed his cheek against Mega’s fabric and rolled off of him and onto John’s side where he still smelled him in the pillow. He looked down at himself and Mega and decided that he’d have to clean up at some point…oxytocin was flooding him though, and he wasn’t keen on moving.

His mobile buzzed and rang and he rolled over again to fetch it from the bed-side table.

He blinked rapidly and tried to sound level, “Hello?”

“Hey, Sherlock,” John said, “I’m sorry I couldn’t get your texts sooner. I’ve been busy for the past few hours now. I’m on lunch break though. How are you?”

“Sleepy.”

“Did you stay up all night like I told you not to?”

“No, I’ve just finished masturbating.”

“Oh, well that’s good,” John said, sounding completely and utterly non-chalant, “Any recommendations to get a bite here?”

“Hmmmm, no,” Sherlock said, “I do know a good place for some chips here though. Come back?”

John laughed, “Sorry, love. I’ll be back in three days. I promise I’ll absolutely lavish you by Thursday.”

“Thursday,” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I’ll keep my eyes peeled for a crime and then maybe you can come up and share the hotel with me,” John replied.

“You’d better.”

“Perhaps we could get on skype tonight and I can show you a preview of Thursday’s gift, yeah?”

“You have a heightened libido.”

“I blame you.”

Sherlock’s smile split his face, “Get me a murder and I can be up in a few hours.”

“I could stage a murder right now, right? How illegal is that?”

“Not at all. Do it,” Sherlock encouraged.


End file.
